He will always come for you
by scarvesandsweaters
Summary: Three years after Sherlock fell, John still hasn't moved on and Moriarty is going to burn the heart out of him.
1. Chapter 1

_"Goodbye John."_

_Obeying his friends last wish, John kept his eyes fixed on his best friend as he fell, plummeting toward the hard cement. He heard himself scream his name but the words did not sound like his own and seemed foreign coming out of his own mouth. He tried to run thinking if he could just reach him fast enough, he could save him but he was stuck, glued to the pavement below him. Time stood still and he was no longer glued to the earth but running toward the sidewalk. Suddenly, a bicyclist collided with him and he was knocked off his feet and hit his head on the ground, but that didn't matter, because a short distance away a group had formed around the body laying still on the sidewalk and slipped to the front of the crowd. He heard himself say, "I'm a doctor, let me through" and "that's my friend." Taking the wrist of the body on the pavement he took the pulse and when he could feel none, he slowly sank to the ground. The body was rolled over and John was left staring into the pale, lifeless eyes of his best friend Sherlock Holmes._

* * *

The rain was falling softly from the dark, colorless sky while John Watson walked through the silent graveyard. It had been three years ago the day he jumped off that hospital building to his death. John took a deep breath. _"It's been three years, you can't cry now."_ He thought to himself. He had been telling himself this the whole cab ride to His grave. He stared at the engraved letters.

_ "The past few years have been hard-"_ John had given up trying not to cry as the tears spilled down his face glad that it was raining._ "I never thought- I never believed- I still don't believe you were a fake."_ He choked on his words and buried his head in his hands while the rain fell around him silently. He stayed like this until the sky grew darker and the rain fell harder.

He shuffled his feet a bit, grabbed his cane and before he left he whispered, _"Goodbye Sher-"_ His voice broke still unable to say his name. _"I-I miss you. Please, come home."_

In the shadows of the silent graveyard stood a dark-haired Irishman who grinned as he watched the blonde haired doctor limp away from the grave.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: sorry it took so long for an update! This is my first story I've written. Please review. please please please! **

* * *

By the time John had arrived back at the flat, the wind and rain had picked up causing him to stare at the ground while fumbling with the key and pushing open the door. The ex-army doctor leaned against the all and silently breathed in the familiar smell of 221B and suddenly wished he had stopped at the pub first. He didn't know how he had made it this long on his own.

He wasn't sure how long he was standing on the wall just inside the door thinking. Thinking of how his life has been without Him. Thinking about how everyone had been treating him and feeling sorry for him. Thinking of Him. He had always had the same question for his friend; "Why?" He sighed defeated running his hands through his now greying hair. It was then that he realized he had been crying. He felt the warm tears trail down his face and watched them fall to the floor and shatter.

"Why?" he breathed out softly

He turned to slowly head up the worn stairs to the flat. He was determined this time. He had wanted to end all of it. He wasn't sure how much longer his body could physically take this anymore. He walked into the flat and took it all in; the smell of tea, dust, and Him. He closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as he could, and walked over to the kitchen table now empty of everything except for his gun.

He sat down and got lost in his thoughts for what felt like hours. He glanced back at the clock and saw only minutes had passed.

Slowly he reached for the gun and examined it for a second before unloading it and putting it in the desk that was once covered in case files, books and clutter.

The doctor knew he could never do it no matter how bad it got, He couldn't go out that way. It was never an option; He wouldn't have wanted this.

He stood up and went to put on the kettle to make himself tea. Finally he had stopped making two cups out of habit after he broke half of their-his china.

The smell of tea reminded John of Him. The way his dark curls framed his pale face. How his pale grey eyes, beautiful grey eyes, would light up when there was a good murder. He was reminded of the sweet sound of the violin. He would never admit it but he loved when he would wake up to hear the soft music floating through he flat. And sometimes he could even hear his friends voice. That deep baritone sound that made him feel more alive then he cared to admit. The voice that kept him going through all of this. The one thing he knew kept him somewhat sane.

"But if you hear voices you can't really be sane can you?" he thought.

He finished up making his tea and walked over to his chair to sit down. Again his eyes roamed over the flat around him. He had originally considered moving to a different flat but he just did not have it in him to leave this place. He could not let anyone else move in here. He just could not.

"sentiment" He would've called it but John didn't care what it was. He couldn't leave. Not then, not now, not ever. That much was clear.

He silently finished up his tea and started drifting off remembering that day three years ago as he watched his best friend throw himself from the hospital.

* * *

He was woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He knew it wasn't Mrs. Hudson as she was visiting her sister. Just then the door swung open and in walked the dark haired Irishman that he always hoped he would never see again.

"Moriarty." John growled.

"Hello Johnny-boy," He practically sang. "Miss me?"

Then John collapsed to the ground, unconscious.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait! I have been very busy lately and quite frankly didn't know what to do next with the story. Here is the next chapter. I will try to update sooner than I did this time. Please forgive me! Also reviews are always welcome! :) Thank you to all who are following!**

**I do not own sherlock.**

* * *

The army doctor had been drifting in and out of sleep for what seemed like a lifetime. When he would wake how could feel the rattle of the vehicle and pressing darkness all around him. When he slept he was standing below St. Bart's that day and now his deceased friend- breathing. Alive. His jacket flowing behind him and his dark curls flopping around his face. These were always what he dreamed about He could hear his voice, that deep baritone that always made him feel grounded and human. It filled his head with memories. He was telling john he was a fake. Why was he telling me this? John thought. Then he fell. He was suddenly at the sidewalk. So much blood. It looked so real. Could this be real? He bent down to take the pulse, but the broken body snatched his hand and a playful Irish voice sounded, "Rise and shine, Johnny-boy."

John's eyelids fluttered open and he realized he was no longer in the vehicle but in a colder, barely brighter room. He could be anywhere. He noticed no windows but the light had to be coming from somewhere. Where?

He was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him. Why was he shaking? What was going on? And there, floating in his blurred vision, stood Jim Moriarty.

"What do you want?" John practically snarled.

The Irishman just smiled and replied, "I just wanted to have some fun John. I've been so very lonely. And so terribly bored." He looked thoughtful for a second. "I'm sure you can understand that- without _Him_ and all."

John practically heard the italicized "him" the had just left the madmans mouth.

John's heart sank down in his chest. _"Why did this have to happen right now?"_ he thought.

The army doctor said nothing. But he knew he had failed. His face said it all. This is what Moriarty had been looking for this. Why wasn't he strong enough to hide his feelings?

The look on Moriarty's face was that of triumph. He knew how to break John. He knew exactly what needed to be done to rip him apart. And all of it revolved around his dead friend.

"Well John, you're going to need some sleep for what I have planned for you. So get some sleep good doctor. Tomorrow the fun begins." Smirking, he turned to leave John where he laid. All alone in the cold, dark.. somewhere.

* * *

John woke up to another "rise and shine" and Moriarty's eyes looking him over. "Are you ready to play, John?"

"What are you planning on doing to me?" John asked not expecting an answer.

"Oh, just want to have some fun." The Irishman smirked at this and proceeded, "Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you Doctor Watson?" His face had become emotionless and his eyes were darker than before. All joking aside, he looked almost like a snake.

Fear slowly began to creep over the smaller man and he winced in pain as his leg started to gradually worsen in pain; much more so than it had in a while. Where was he? He looked around. An empty room, damp and cold. John decided it must be a warehouse somewhere. That would explain the sparse lighting.

Moriarty looked at him with a smirk dancing along his dark features. He pulled a piece of paper out of his suit pocket and showed it to John.

It took his eyes a few seconds before he could finally see what the paper said.

**LOST PET**

(a picture of a yellow lab)

Male. Blonde hair. Light eyes. Very loyal.

Walks with a slight limp. Very friendly.

He responds to the name, "Johnny-Boy".

If found, please return him to his home(refer to his dog tags).

May be injured. Or worse. Please help.

"What-" The army doctor started, "what good will this do? There is no one out there to find this. No one. No one will understand and you will be left with me."

"There is one who could." Moriarty's face had twisted into a grin that made him look even more threatening. He was rather amused by this, John could see it written all over his face.

"No. There _was_ one. He is d- gone." The short, light-haired man realized he was now whispering. His hand was shaking violently and he tightened it into a fist. He hung his head to hide the tear that escaped his eyes. It slowly slid down his cheek and he watched it hit the floor. Moriarty only chuckled to himself and John straightened up and stared into his eyes. "No one is coming. You're insane; He is gone."

The madman stopped laughing and looked at the doctor one last time before turning to leave the room John was in. He stopped just before the door and turning slightly said to him, "Oh but that's where you are wrong doctor, He will always come for you."


End file.
